


The Way We Were

by Lafeae



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Rekindling Relationship, Romance, mentions of relationship abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-23 12:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23711689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafeae/pseuds/Lafeae
Summary: An accident erases part of Kaiba’s memories. Specifically, the last ten years of his life, a majority of which has been spent with Joey.Joey hopes that he can make Kaiba remember all the happy times they’ve spent together, or at least, make Kaiba realise why the loved each other in the first place.
Relationships: Jounouchi Katsuya | Joey Wheeler/Kaiba Seto
Comments: 25
Kudos: 76





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> More WIPs. This ones been gnawing at me...I guess since I needed angst to balance out the fluff. Enjoy!

It was forty-two steps from Joey’s bedroom to Seto’s. Like they were roommates; at one time, everyone thought they were, because Joey had wormed his way into Seto’s good graces somehow, and they shared the Kaiba estate, cohabitating, passing by each other like ghosts while the blond worked nights and Seto never knew what the ‘off’ button was, so his work days blended into work nights which blended into work weeks and months and eventually years. Which sounded hard, but Joey watched from the sidelines and figured that it was the fuel that Seto ran on. It was more potent than caffeine, that was for sure. Somewhere in that mess, ten years had passed, they’d gotten married and the manor became theirs. 

But right now, they were roommates again. 

Not by choice. Not by any explicit force other than Joey’s nervous conscience. The same conscience that planted him in front of Seto’s door (“our door, dammit. It’s our door”) for several minutes each morning before work. 

Twisting the gold band on his finger, Joey exhaled and pushed through the door. He hummed as he entered. 

The room was dim and still in the pre-dawn light, ashen grey and soft blue. The bed skirt blended into the carpet in low light, and Joey looked at his feet. “Din’t mean to wear my shoes in,” he said. He slipped out of them and approached the bed. He didn’t realise he was in a rush. “Mornin’, Seto,” he greeted, humming between the silences. “I’m about to head out, so I won’t be back til around four, though I might go see Yug’ if he calls. We’ll see.” 

Joey sat on the edge of the bed and laid his hand over Seto’s. He looked comfortable and peaceful. That was the overnight nurses handiwork; she always made him comfortable when she moved the pillows and let him rest flat. She brushed out his hair too, though she’d tried to part it to the left and Joey was quick to finger the bangs back to their rightful place. 

His humming subsided, and the monotonous beep of the heart monitor intruded as he admired Seto’s sharp jaw, his sunken cheeks and eyes. The intravenous diet and the feeding tube slithered down Seto’s nose did little to keep him looking fit. He’d always made fun of how skinny Seto was, but he found himself regretting it now. Four months of this diet had made him a different person masquerading as Seto. 

“You’re okay with that, though, right?” Joey asked. He cupped Seto’s hand between his. “You’re gonna be busy dreamin’ here. They better be good dreams so you can tell me about them when ya wake up. I can bother ya about all of them, an’ then Moki can look up what they mean.” 

Joey began humming again. His throat was sore, but mostly he was tired. Sleeping alone in a guest bed, however soft, wasn’t the same. And when he sunk into their bed—“our martial bed,” he could hear Seto say—he was exhausted. If he let himself, he would curl up against Seto and sleep the day away, completely forgetting about his students while he got lost in his and Seto’s shared dream. 

“A’right, I’ll make sure to be home by dinner. Cook’s makin’ au gratin so I can’t miss that.” Joey went to the door, looking back over his shoulder. “You’re gonna tell me about your dreams tonight, got it mister? You ain’t gettin’ out of it.” He said, humming all the way to the front door. 

—

Working with the at-risk students took Joey’s mind off of the home situation. He always laughed at himself when he called it that. ‘The home situation’. Like it was something terrible. To a lot of people, having a spouse in a coma was probably the most terrible, horrible thing they could think of short of losing their loved one. But Joey knew better than to call it the most horrible. 

The kids in his class reminded him of that. They weren’t bad kids. Not by nature, but their home life was less than ideal. Like his, he supposed, which made him the most qualified to deal with them, and he did it the only way he could: through Duel Monsters. He used duels as conflict resolution, and was fond of telling stories of his time on the tournament circuit as a way to quiet the rowdy bunch. 

There were ten kids in total, and he liked to think of them as little brothers and sisters. They came from alcoholic households. Poor households. Homes where their big brother or sister was their caretaker. Homes where he knew there was abuse going on, but he had to coax it out of the kids carefully. They were eight or nine years old, they didn’t get what was going on. They couldn’t explain it any more than he had been able for explain his situation at fifteen. Every day was a rewarding, yet uphill, battle. 

“When you’re all done with the worksheets bring ‘em up to the front,” he said, walking through the aisles of desks. They kids were on a girls versus boys phase, and three girls huddled close to the bathroom, sitting in a circle and giggling while one of the boys tried throwing a paper airplane at them. “Make sure your name’s on ‘em this time,” he said, tapping one boy’s shoulder as he did. 

The paper airplane was scooped up and reworked. 

The bell rang, and the kids rushed his desk, leaving a messy pile of glossy worksheets before running back to their cubbies. He lined them up and led them out of the classroom, marching them to the lobby. As they left, he held out his hand and they slapped it, with him counting to make sure every kid made it out. 

Once the hall emptied, he tucked his hands into his pockets. The quiet fell on his shoulders. His fellow teachers were chattering, heading back to their classrooms. He met up with them and listened to them talk about going to the movies later. “Did you want to join, Joey?” one woman, Ann, asked. 

“Uh...I...” 

The other teacher, Erica, slapped Ann’s shoulder and shook her head. 

Joey frowned. “I said I’d meet with a friend. Ain’t seen him in a few weeks.” 

Ann shot Erica a glare before asking, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Joey nodded, but he was still contemplating the offer. “I haven’t been able to get out much. Life’s been busy with the holidays coming up. Don’t think I’ve had two seconds between the kids and Seto, ya know?” 

The pair eyed him cautiously, as if prodding the other to speak up first. Joey hung from his classroom door and watched them, amused. Everyone acted like it was a touchy subject and that he couldn’t talk about Seto at all. Like he was going to break down into tears and, knowing Ann, they would embrace him and offer to take him out. Before the incident, he had gone for drinks a few times. He missed it, feeling like he belonged with the other teachers. It was bad timing that once he’d gotten into their inner circle that Seto had been hurt.

“We get it,” Ann said, with Erica hanging on her arm. “But we wanted to ask.” 

They left it at that. Joey gathered his things from his desk and headed to the parking lot, collapsing into his car. He almost dozed off with his forehead against the cool, frosted glass, and he licked the window wondering if his tongue could get stuck to it. It threatened to snow; he and Mokuba would be putting up the Christmas tree soon. Eventually, Mokuba was going to get their annual White Elephant party together, and he’d have to figure out how that was going to work with Seto. Did he pack Seto up in a wheelchair and set him downstairs for everyone to see? 

Exhaling, Joey lifted from the window. His cheek was numb, aching. He pulled out his phone and dialled Yugi’s number, putting it on speaker phone. 

“Hey, Joey,” Yugi answered, chipper. 

Joey strained to smile. “Hey, Yug’. Didn’t catch ya at a bad time, did I?” 

“No, no. I was just finishing up something,” Yugi replied, and after a beat of silence he asked: “Is everything okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah. ‘Course it is, I jus’ got in the car an’ can’t believe how cold it’s gotten. It ain’t even December, yet. We’re gonna be up to our eyes in snow here soon.” He started up the car and began driving towards the Turtle Game Shop. “I was wonderin’ if ya wanted to hang tonight. Grab a coupla beers or somethin’.” 

There was background talk. Téa’s voice was unmistakable. Joey’s smile faltered the longer they talked. 

“Sure, yeah. Did you wanna meet somewhere?” Yugi asked. 

“Didn’t have a place in mind. So the old waterin’ hole, I guess,” Joey said, and he began buzzing in his seat. “I’ll see if I can rope Tris in. Last I heard he got put on days, so he should be off in a few.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Yugi said, and quickly said his goodbyes. If anything, he seemed as antsy to get out of the house as Joey was, though he couldn’t imagine why. It was just Téa, and she could handle herself, even if she was pregnant. 

As Joey pulled up to the bar, he called Tristan and left a message. Inside, he ordered a shot to start, checking his messages while he threw it back. He’d be buzzed by the time Yugi arrived. That sounded like a plan. The liquor warmed him up, and he nursed a beer when his shorter friend sidled beside him and ordered as well. 

He threw an arm over Yugi’s shoulders. “Glad ya could make it.” 

“Me too,” Yugi replied. “You called at the right time.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mm-hm. I probably would’ve been busy all night with some baby stuff, and I just needed a break.” Yugi happily took his ordered beer, and the two chewed over the lost weeks. It seemed like not so long ago they were joined at the hip. Helping each other through college, encouraging each other to date, eventually being each other’s best man. That had been a hell of an argument with Seto. Traditional wedding and them didn’t really go together. 

They talked so long that Joey’s beer went warm. Tristan was nowhere to be seen. “You should call him again,” Yugi suggested. 

“You,” Joey replied. “He’ll answer you.” 

“I dunno about that.” 

“I think I made him mad.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Joey rolled his shoulders. “Because I’ve been puttin’ off hangin’ out. I kinda don’t wanna talk to him after the last fight we had.” 

“Yeah, he told me you two really got into it, but that was a few months ago.” 

“He hasn’t forgot it,” Joey said, snorting. He gulped down the warm beer. “Every time I’ve tried to call he hasn’t answered, so he must still be sore. I tried apologisin’, but he won’t take it. I guess ditchin’ that comic con was a bad idea.” 

“There was a lot going on then, though. Wasn’t that right after the accident on the space station?” 

Joey nodded. “He said that I needed to take the weekend for myself, but I wasn’t gonna abandon Seto or Mokuba like that. I know he was tryin’ to get my mind off things, but he didn’t get it, and we butted heads. I said some stupid shit. He said some stupider shit.” 

“That’s about what he told me,” Yugi said. He set a hand on Joey’s arm. “He’ll come around, you’re both just being stubborn.” 

“I sure as hell hope so.” 

“He will.” Yugi was always good at making Joey feel better about shitty situations. “Speaking of Kaiba though, is he doing okay? I haven’t really heard anything in the news lately.” 

“No changes,” Joey reported. “Though Mokuba told me he finally figured out what happened up there.”

“What happened?” Yugi asked with subdued curiosity. 

Joey didn’t want to know what had happened to Seto. The how wasn’t going to miraculously fix his husband, so it didn’t matter. But Mokuba was a Kaiba. He was too stubborn to take no for an answer. 

“Whatever Seto had been testing up there fritzed out, blew out one of the support beams an’ that made the whole room cave-in, they said. Mokuba’s seen the simulations an’ he says he’s puttin’ in failsafes up there.” Joey scoffed. “Lotta good that’s gonna do.” 

Yugi’s head bowed. He polished off his beer, and they ordered another round. A few times, Joey looked up to his friend and tempted to talk. He’d always look away, not wanting to bother Yugi with his problems. They didn’t get a lot of time to hang out, and he didn’t want to complain or try to explain the other feelings he’d had about Seto, or the state of their marriage, or the accident everyone danced around. He loved Seto still, and he was never going to leave because they were married, but it was difficult to put in to words how utterly alone he felt. How much he felt like it wasn’t Seto in that bed, like he’d lost something. 

With Yugi, he’d rather hear the silly stories about whatever Gramps was up to, or the latest trip on behalf of KaibaCorp., where Yugi had just gotten back from a tour of China. The struggle to crawl out of the stagnant, melancholy cocoon he’d built for himself was difficult, but for a few hours, he was able to laugh and reminisce, like everything outside of the bar had disappeared. Joey played a game with himself; he imagined he was sixteen, ordering beers and snickering about how the bartender didn’t know what she was doing, not carding him. 

“Ya know what we should do?” Joey said when he stood to leave. “There’s that bar-cade a few blocks from here. We should go an’ try to beat Seto’s high score on Galaga. Bet we can. We got all night.” 

Yugi held onto Joey’s arm out of the building. “That would probably take days to conquer.” 

“So? It’s Friday, let’s do it. Bar don’t close ‘til like four.”

Yugi shook his head. “I’ve gotta get back to Téa. She just texted me and says she wanted blueberries.” 

And the whimsical feeling of being sixteen died. Joey nodded, accepting their fates as almost thirty year olds that had responsibilities. He had told Seto he’d be back for dinner and it was already almost nine. With a sigh, he climbed into his car, but he didn’t drive. He drifted off, sleeping off the worst of the alcohol, though really, it was an excuse to sleep with the chill of the window against his cheek. By the time he stirred, his eye was swollen shut and his head was pounding. 

He stretched and drove home, dragging himself into the house with plans to fall straight into bed and sleep until noon the next day. No one was going to stop him, especially not Seto. Collapsing on the bed, he kicked his shoes off and stretched out across the length of the queen sized bed. He gripped the sheets and curled up in them, letting the exhaustion melt from his bones. 

When he woke up, this nightmare would all be over. Seto would be waiting at the breakfast nook, scrolling through the morning news and checking stocks. He’d chew on the same corner of toast for ten minutes, but would somehow drink three cups of coffee in the same amount of time. Joey would grade the worksheets he’d forgotten, and they’d negotiate plans for dinner at their favourite Italian place, complete with a stop at the new gelato parlour. Not that it was new anymore, but that’s what they called it. For some reason, neither of them could remember the name, and he poked fun at Seto’s eidetic memory. And they’d go home and make love, fall asleep, and start all over again the next day. 

—

“ _You must have been up late last night.”_

_Joey’s ears prickled. The deep register of Seto’s voice enveloped him, and he shivered. It sounded like it was incredibly close, just beside his face, but when he sat up, Seto was a mile away, a speck along a lonely parkway._

_“I went drinkin’. It’s been hard without ya.”_

_“It has?”_

_“Yeah.” Following the shadow-cast outline, Joey was heedless of his surroundings. He vaguely knew this was dream, but when he told himself it was a dream, it suddenly felt very real. Sea salt floated in the air, gravel and something tin-like crunched beneath his feet. “Kinda like me tryin’ to pull you away from work. Ya know how ya say you feel antsy?”_

_“You always picked the worst times to interrupt me.”_

_Joey clicked his tongue. “There’s never a ‘worst time’. Ya just gotta stop for like fifteen minutes. My Ma’s right, you’re gonna give yourself a stroke.”_

_“You must be happy then,” Seto said. His voice reminded Joey of cardboard. Even, bland. The shadow, too, was unmoving as he got closer. “I’m not working now; you have me all to yourself, you control everything.”_

_“Happy? What’s happy about coordinatin’ your bodily functions? Trust me, I’d rather leave all that to you,” Joey joked, wiping his sweating hands on his shirt. “I mean, not all of ‘em...” To the side, small fires burned and electrical wires snappe_ d _and sizzled. In front of him, a heavy pole sheered through a wall of computers and monitors. “Just the ones that ya close the bathroom door for.”_

_“Not that kind of control.”_

_Burning hair, and something fatty, filled his senses. His eyes burned, and he wanted to turn away but was too curious to stop stepping forward. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about, I—,” Joey froze, clapping his hands over his mouth shortly after. “Seto...that...you...you ain’t...”_

_“You know what we’re talking about.”_

_On a throne of broken machines sat a person that resembled his husband. It perched like his husband; crossed its ankle on its knee, leaned its cheek into its fist like his husband. But the face was smeared with clots of blood that dribbled down its chin._

_“I don’t.” Rushing to the thing-that-looked-like-Seto, Joey tried to wipe the blood away, but no matter how much he swiped, more filled in the gaps. “I need t’ get ya help. I can call an’ ambulance, get ya out of here. Lemme help ya up.”_

_“Don’t play stupid with me.” The blood parted for a neon-white smile. “You don’t want to help me. We both know you’re happy this accident happened.”_

_Closing his eyes, Joey turned away from thing-the-looked-like-Seto hoping that the face became normal when he opened his eyes again._

—

Joey awoke unceremoniously in the guest bedroom. The day nurse shook him vigorously. He rolled over, ready to go back to sleep as soon as he did, but the nurse poked him again. He slurred our, “What? What’s goin’ on?” as he sat upright in the bed, stretching out his back. 

“Mr. Kaiba is missing.”

“Missin’?” The words didn’t register fully. It seemed just as weird and lucid as his dream he suddenly didn’t remember. “The hell do ya mean ‘missin’?” 

The nurse was at a loss for words, which was far more than her usual icy composure. She wrung her hands and followed Joey as he bolted to the master bedroom and threw the doors open. From a distance, he saw the blankets lumped up on the bed. Various tubes and wires were draped over it, and the heart monitor was a solid, silent flatline. 

He heart began pounding in his ears. Seto really just disappeared. 

“Where’s Roland?” Joey threw open the en suite door and the walk-in closet, hoping but not expecting Seto to be stepping out of the shower or thumbing through suits “How the hell did he just get up? How’d ya not notice? He’s been out for four months, it ain’t like he’s gonna be runnin’ marathons or nothin’.” 

“I was out prepping for lunch,” the nurse explained, “when I came back he was gone.” But it fell on deaf ears as Joey pushed past her out to the main hall. 

Across the way, Mokuba was opening doors, too, his hand raking through his once neatly gelled haired into it normal, chaotic mess. Always thirteen, even at twenty-three. He shouted over the banister to Roland who was calmly calling out orders over a radio. 

How long had he slept that he hadn’t noticed this, he asked himself as he jogged over to Mokuba. “Anyone know what’s goin’ on?” Joey asked, biting back a grimace. 

“No.” Mokuba sucked on his lower lip and lingered on the banister for a moment. He was breathless.

“Did ya just get here?” 

“Yeah, the nurse called me. She couldn’t find Seto; she couldn’t find you.” Mokuba wiped his hands down his face. “I was freaked out, I thought something bad had happened to you guys.” 

Joey stepped closer. “Well, I’m okay. I’m jus’ findin’ out about this, too. Didn’t really expect to have this rude awakenin’,” he said, trying to bring some levity to his fear. It fell flat. “C’mon, lets keep lookin’. I don’t think he got far.” 

“If he was the one that got himself up,” Mokuba replied solemnly. “I don’t see him waking up and just...walking out of here. Where would he be going? The cars are all here and...and he’s gotta be disoriented...” 

Joey and Mokuba walked side-by-side, opening doors and calling out for Seto. When Mokuba stopped, Joey noted how haggard he was. That wasn’t this sudden development, but the few months of stepping into the position of acting President of KaibaCorp. Regarding Mokuba sombrely, knowing he had spent very little time with Seto since shouldering his burdens, Joey suddenly wished he’d called Mokuba more. He was always afraid of bothering the younger Kaiba; Seto knew how to juggle everything, and once or twice, Joey had managed to get him to take a break. Mokuba, he suspected, felt he had something to prove. The dark rings under his eyes was all he had to show for it. 

“Why don’t ya sit down?” Joey suggested, steering Mokuba to the stairs. “I’ll find Seto real quick. He can’t have gone far.” 

Mokuba winced. “He made it all the way to Pegasus’ island after the last time he was in a coma. Who knows where he’s going now?” 

Alarmed, recalling the details of the past, Joey’s lips thinned. “Where would he go, though? He got up t’ save you before, right? There ain’t nothin’ he’s gotta do this time. At least, I don’t think so.” 

Mokuba fell onto the top step and hung his head in his hands. “Roland!” 

The security head snapped to attention. “Sir?” 

“What about the helicopter? Did he try to access that?” 

“Not that we’re aware,” Roland replied. “No vehicles have been taken off the premises, and he hasn’t been seen at headquarters, either.” 

Joey squatted down beside Mokuba, trying to solve this problem. It wasn’t his forte. “They think maybe someone was after him?” He knew about as much as anyone else did of Seto’s goings on. Where he went. Who he talked to. What business dealings he was a part of. Enemies were numerous, and threats were filed into into piles on how imminent they might have been. Joey didn’t read those, he turned them over to security and hoped these were just crazy people that had no real plans. There had been close shaves, but he tried not to think about those. It had been a while since he heard about anything. “Seems like a crazy ass idea to take him now. What would they do with him if they did?” 

“If it were me I’d pick now,” Mokuba said. “He couldn’t fight back. He’d be weak and they could do...they could do whatever, demand whatever.”

Joey heard the tears he couldn’t see. It made his lip quiver and his nose fill with snot. He shook out any of the dark thoughts of what someone would do to Seto, and he embraced Mokuba tightly. “We’ll find him. It ain’t gonna take much longer.” 

And he stood after, making good on his word to begin searching the rest of the house. He didn’t know where he was going to look that Mokuba or security hadn’t already rifled through, but he went through the usual suspects: the home office, downstairs to a gym he used after a shower in the morning. He hadn’t been in the bedroom, so Joey traced the steps of Seto’s morning routine. He could walk the path with his eyes closed, because Seto was a creature of habit. Did it really matter, though? It wasn’t as if Seto would wake up from a coma and go about his morning routine like any other day. He wasn’t in the parlour, or the kitchen, or at the breakfast nook. Every door Joey opened, his hopes rose, and every time it laid bare, his heart sank into his bowels. 

Seto was gone. Up and left. 

On the bottom floor, near the back of the estate, was the library. It was tucked beneath the stairs, with a door that blended into the mahogany panelling. The only reason it caught his attention was because the door hung open. He assumed that security had left it open, maybe as a signal that it had been checked, but when he crept up, the lights were still on. 

“Hello?” he called, expecting a suit to pop out from between the long rows bookshelves. 

Joey could count on one hand how many times he’d been in the library. It was a curious place; the musty smell of the books was less stagnant than the rest of the house. 

“Anyone in here?” he asked, and he crept through slowly. It was eerie. It seemed lost in time, as far as he could tell. Textbooks were left open on a desk pushed up against the wall. Joey flicked off the desk-light and almost walked out, but rustling stopped him. “‘Ey, is someone here?” 

“Yes,” a raspy, barely there voice said. It chilled Joey. It didn’t sound exactly human, but after a soft throat clearing, he recognised Seto as he said: “What I want to know if why you’re here.”

Elated, Joey tripped over his feet to the back and sank down by where Seto sat crossed-legged on the floor. He was frail and ghostly. His spindly fingers curled around the spine of a book he didn’t seem strong enough to hold. Blood droplets speckled his arms where he’d pulled out the IV. He swam in his nightshirt. 

“‘Cause I was worried about ya,” Joey said, inching closer. He wondered if Seto could stand up again. 

Seto’s brow furrowed, confused. “Why would you be worried about me?” 

“Uh...well, it’s a long story,” Joey chuckled, taking Seto’s arm. “I can explain when we get the doc to look at ya.” 

Seto grabbed his wrist. The vice-grip took Joey aback, and he fell limp in the hold. The elation of finding Seto curled up in, of all places, the library was draining from him body. He was cold; as cold as the glare levelled at him. The look Seto gave him wasn’t a fearful one, but a familiar one of hate and contempt. The curl of his lips, and the flippant way he threw Joey’s arm away, made it undeniable. 

“I don’t need your diagnosis, Wheeler.” 

Joey’s eyes narrowed. “The hell are ya callin’ me that for?” 

“Because it’s your name. Would you prefer ‘mutt’ instead? Because that can be arranged.” 

“Oh, I get it, this is you playin’ a prank. Ha-ha, very funny.” It was the only way to rationalise what was happening. The neat scar above Seto’s right eye, once an pulsating, bone deep gash that Joey refused to look at, reminded him that Seto’s brain could have been scrambled. The doctor spent an afternoon explaining all the different possibilities. How a traumatic brain injury could mess with his personality, his emotions, his memory, his cognition. Something up there was wrong, and it was making Seto a terrible jokester. “So...c’mon. Let me help ya back, an’ then you can do all the jokin’ ya want.” 

Seto rolled his eyes and stood. He wobbled, and Joey instinctually braced him before being thrown back. 

“Stop touching me!” Seto roared. “What are you, deaf and dumb? And what are you doing in my house? Get the hell out. Roland!” 

Seto staggered by Joey while the blond forced his limbs to react to his husband getting by him. He didn’t know how long he stood there before he was finally able to unwind and wheel around to follow. 

Outside, Roland and Mokuba, as well as two other security guards, stood with Seto. Mokuba embraced his older brother, but Seto’s response was practically nonexistent. He barely raised a finger, pulling back and away. 

“Where’d you find him?” Mokuba asked Joey. 

“The library. He was curled up there readin’.” 

Mokuba’s smile betrayed the fear rising in him. The kid was smart. Maybe he could figure out what was going on with Seto. 

“Guess I should have thought of that. We’d have made it there eventually, I’m just glad you’re safe,” he said, holding Seto at arm’s length. “Are you okay? You look a little tired, maybe you should sit down.” 

Seto shook his head. 

“Okay. That’s fine, let’s take a walk then. You, me, and Joey.” Mokuba was searching his brother’s face for something, anything, the same way that Joey had. “Right, Joey? Let’s go take a walk, let him gather his bearings, and maybe get something to eat. I’m sure he’s starving.” 

“Might wanna make coffee, then,” Joey said. 

“Tea, he’s getting tea for now.” 

“Don’t blame me when he gets mad at ya.” 

Seto was having none of it. He took another two steps back and scanned Mokuba head-to-toe, suspicious and malcontent. The younger Kaiba told Roland to go and fetch the nurse, thinking the same thing that Joey was: something was wrong with his mind, and neither of them could place the scope of it. Trembling, Joey reached out for his husband’s hand. He snatched it back. 

“What’s wrong?” Mokuba asked. 

Seto pinched his lips and looked to Joey. “Is this another one of yours and Yugi’s stupid friends?” he asked, knocking his head towards Mokuba. 

“Nii-sama...?” 

An expression between knowing and unknowing, uncertain but indignant, flashed on Seto’s face. It reminded Joey of the days he still called his husband Kaiba, like he didn’t even have a first name. 

“Don’t you dare call me that,” Seto said grimly. “You’re not Mokuba, and I don’t appreciate whatever sick joke and Wheeler think you’re pulling. You have three seconds to get out of my house before I call the police and charge you with trespassing.” 

Undeterred, Mokuba gripped Seto’s shoulders. Tears flecked in his dapple grey eyes, but steadily he asked, “Seto, how old are you?” 

“What kind of stupid question is that?” 

“Just answer it.” 

“18,” Seto answered flatly. 

The glance Mokuba and Joey shared expressed the same horror. Ten years worth of memories had, very possibly, vanished from Seto’s mind, and Joey couldn’t decide who that was worse for; him, who Seto distinctly recognised but hated, or Mokuba, the lying stranger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will be three parts. It might change to two, depending on how this goes. But three seems of be enough.
> 
> In any case, yeah, all the set up here. The next two chapters are going to be a rollercoaster for everyone, Mokuba included. Tell me what you think!


	2. Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew I’d get back into the eventually, I do have a ton more ideas. You may also notice that the chapters have changed. May be three, may be four, depends on the length of the next bit.

The doctor emerged from Seto’s study after nearly two hours. The time had been irrelevant. Joey had spent in alternating between wringing his hands and playing a game on his phone, only putting it away when Mokuba said: “The music is weird.” Whatever the kid needed to justify solemnity was fine, but Joey couldn’t stand to be stagnant. He was grateful to stop staring at the flecks in the door handles. They needed polished; someone hadn’t bothered, and he hadn’t cared to tell them to bother. 

Mokuba sprung up. “How is he?” 

“Overall he’s physically doing well.” 

“And mentally?” 

“There’s no short-term memory loss,” the doctor replied, almost too proud. “I gave him several words throughout our conversation and then asked him to repeat them at varying intervals. He had no trouble.” 

Joey frowned and rubbed his thumb against his tear duct until he saw sparks. “An’ the whole...’I’m 18’ thing?”

A sigh, and the doctor clasped his hands at his waist. “Well, he’s having trouble with his spatial awareness and some semantic ideas. It took him a few tries to figure out how to hold a pen properly, but he wrote his name just fine. His word associations are also fine, but I would recommend a psychiatrist. Some of his answers suggest he might be suffering from depression.”

“He’s prolly depressed ‘cause he can’t remember anythin’,” Joey said, pointed. This pencil-necked doctor was dancing around details, and he was caught between fear and rage. “Why can’t he do that?” 

“It’s called retrograde amnesia. It’s not uncommon in traumatic brain injury.” 

“So...what? Is it gonna get better? An’ why is it only like, a chunk of time? Usually in movie’s they’re all like ‘who are you’ an’ ‘where am I’ an’ things like that but he’s...” Joey held his hand to the door, trying to conjure a word better than ‘lost’. But Seto was lost. 

“Memory is a very complicated thing. Unfortunately movies tend to play up things to be dramatic or interesting. Full retrograde amnesia of that caliber is very, very rare, but so is what Mr. Kaiba is experiencing. It involves a lot of different systems of the brain, not all of which were linked to the point of his injury, but—,” 

“Can you fix him?” Joey demanded, exasperated. 

“No. Not explicitly.” 

“So he’s never going remember?” Mokuba asked. 

The pencil-necked doctor became flat lipped. He fiddled with his watch band and looked at Mokuba. “He could, but there’s no way of telling how, or when, or what he might remember or not. It’s not a pure amnesia. He has very good recollection of his past, childhood figures and places, where he went to high school, even what car he drove. I had him talk me through the process of driving a stick shift. When I had him act it out, he had some difficulty but kept trying, albeit with a few choice words,” Joey warmed to that notion, however bleak, “which I understand is his normal personality. Driven, competitive, won’t take no for an answer. That’s a good sign, and we can work on the semantics, the spatial awareness, but the memory is a global issue...” 

Mokuba’s head bowed. To Joey, all the words sounded like gibberish, and he stopped listening even as Mokuba offered his full attention. The doctor liked to talk. All the explanation and medical terms in the world wouldn’t outweigh the pain of hearing that Seto couldn’t be fixed. That there was nothing they could do. 

Unraveling, Joey let his limbs fall around him, lead-heavy. He continued to stare at the door. Somewhere behind it, Seto was sitting at his desk, probably struggling to understand how a pen or computer worked.

Roland slipped in and out with a cup of coffee and lunch, but Joey couldn’t bring himself to enter. Instead, he pretended to listen to the doctor, nodding at any questions poised towards him. At the end, when both the doctor and Mokuba had furrowed brows, he heaved himself up and said: “Do whatever ya hafta do to make him normal. I’m gonna go lay down.” 

He went into the bedroom and closed the door tight, removing all of the old wires and tubes from Seto’s side of the bed. He laid a pillow longways in the indent his husband had made over time. Gently, he covered it up, laid beside it, and fell asleep. 

—

“I can’t do this alone.” Mokuba held his coffee mug until his palms were red but didn’t drink from it. “At least he recognises you, you need to talk to him.” 

Outside, flurries danced around and stuck to the window, prickling like icicles before melting away. Joey’s bare feet rubbed over the tops of each other. “Why, so he can yell at me?” 

“Maybe at first.” 

Joey scoffed. “Yeah, that’s gonna be a load of fun. Havin’ all the same arguments I had with him when we were teenagers. That’s definitely the part of our relationship I wanna revisit. It’s why we talk about it so damn much.” 

“What else are we supposed to do? You can’t just avoid him forever, and I can’t do anything until I make him believe it’s me.” 

“He’ll believe you eventually.” 

“Uh, hello? This is Seto we’re talking about.” Mokuba looped the locket around his finger. “I showed him this, and he thought that I stole it or did something to myself. He didn’t believe it was me no matter what I told him. He’s paranoid.” 

“He’s brain damaged.” 

“Yeah. He is,” Mokuba agreed with disbelief. “And that’s not going away anytime soon. So you need to go talk to him now. The sooner we get him to believe something, the better.” 

Somehow, this was more horrendous than Seto being in a coma. Then, Joey knew for certain who he was talking to every morning and who he kissed every night. The gnarly thing walking around the house, whose footsteps were invisible until they appeared right behind him, reminded him less of Seto than the gaunt skin stretched over his sharp cheeks and elbows. Rather, it was too similar to a part of Seto that Joey had lost to time. 

“I dunno how to talk to him when he’s mean,” Joey said softly. “I got soft. I ain’t used to all the mean things he used to say to me no more. I hate it so much. I hate him.” 

“You don’t hate him,” Mokuba said. 

“Right, I don’t hate him, but I hate _him_. The him-him he is now, I don’t...” Joey shook his head. “An’ he hates me, so it’s even.” 

“Well, he might not like you now, but it’s because he doesn’t know you yet. It won’t last forever.” 

If only Mokuba knew how deep the hatred ran. “Oh, it will.” 

The coffee mug slammed on the table. Joey flinched, and looked into Mokuba’s burning face. “Could you at least try to help him? Or, I don’t know, talk to him? That’s what the doctor said could help. If we keep making him think it’s ten years ago, he’s not gonna ever think it’s now. So do something! This isn’t like you to just sulk.” 

“I’m not sulkin’.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

The invisible footsteps startled Joey as Seto glided through the kitchen, his pose tight and his attention just as wide as it was laser focused. He turned robotically, in a pivot, and scanned the details with a critical eye. 

Mokuba stood and took his arm. “Where’s your cane? Did you leave it in your office?” 

“I don’t have a cane.” Seto slipped his arm away, though less savagely than the day before. “I can walk fine.” 

“The doctor says you’ve got some atrophy, it’ll help these first few days.” 

“I’m fine.” 

Abruptly, Mokuba wrapped his arms around Seto. His fingers curled and his back stiffened. He lulled his head back until Mokuba let him go and patted his breast. “Just take it easy. If you need something, me or Joey can get it for you.” 

“Please. He doesn’t have the brain cells.” 

“I’m right here, Seto,” Joey interjected. 

“Stop calling me that.” 

“It’s your name. I’m gonna call my husband by his name, unless ya forgot that, too.” 

Seto laughed until he stumbled into the countertop. “I would never marry you, Wheeler, get your head out of the clouds.” He kept ahold of the countertop as he inched about. Though he walked with ease, Joey could see him biting back the humiliation of getting halfway through making his own cup of coffee and stopping to inspect the sugar dispenser. Mokuba guided his hand. 

“If I ain’t married to ya, why am I still in your house?” 

“Because Roland says I can’t throw you to the curb.” 

“An’ you’re listenin’ to him?” Joey asked, curious. “Why?” 

The spoon clanked against the sides of the cup, and when Joey asked again, he stirred longer and louder. He left soon after, holding onto the cup with both hands and only letting go to hold onto the threshold of the door. 

Joey wanted to say that he didn’t care, since Seto didn’t, but that never stopped him. There had been times that Seto accused him of caring too much and worrying about things no one else should be worrying about. If their plane was delayed, if there would be rain on vacation, if Seto had gotten into an accident just because he didn’t come home until almost three in the morning despite knowing that’s just how he was. It felt innate. That was what you did for someone you loved: you cared and you worried about the implausibilities. Joey had, on occasion, apologised for caring, and Seto brushed him off. “Apologise when you actually make a mistake,” he had said. “That way it means something.” 

Hopping up, Joey hustled to catch up as Seto went up the grand staircase. “Seto, I know ya don’t wanna believe it—“ 

“—stop calling me that—“ 

“But we got married. We got married six years ago. We dated three years before that. Me an’ you have been thing goin’ on a third of your life,” he said, and he grabbed the cup of coffee as Seto tilted it towards his chest. The brunet didn’t let him hold it. Instead, he covered the top with his palm. “Ya think you’re 18, but you’re not.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re not. Did ya look in a mirror. Don’t ya think it’s weird that ya look all...different?” 

A pause. “I just got back from crossing dimensions, not that it’s any of your business.” 

Joey clenched his teeth and bounded up to the landing. “No, ya didn’t. You were in an accident. Ya don’t remember because it scrambled your brain, but ya did that ten years ago. Ya went an’ seen Atem a long time ago, ya made your peace, an’ ya came back all...all....” Joey rolled his hands. “You were weird, okay?” 

“It takes one to know one.” 

“Fine, I’m weird. But I married ya, so that makes us two peas in a pod, don’t it?” Joey said. “It made us perfect for each other. We were both weird an’ at the time we both needed someone, so we found each other.” 

Seto stopped and pivoted to Joey. “I’m not needy, and I’m not married to you, Wheeler. I don’t even like you! The fact that you’ve deluded yourself into thinking I would ever need you for anything is beyond—!” 

Not wanting to hear the rest, Joey crushed his lips against Seto’s and ate the words. They were sprinkled with butter and sugar, and he didn’t let go until hot coffee splashed down his night shirt and singed the skin beneath.

Seto shoved him away. “How dare you?” 

“What? Kiss my husband?”

“I’m not your husband!” 

“Oh yeah?” Joey dragged Seto’s hand up to his face. He had noticed, despite Seto’s vehemence otherwise, that he’d never taken off his wedding ring. “If we weren’t married, you wouldn’t be wearin’ this. I...I took it off ya while you were out, I didn’t want it to somehow mess with the machines or somethin’ stupid like that.” 

“So you put it back on.” 

“Nah. Nah, you musta done that.” 

There was a clearness in Seto’s eyes for half a second. Like he knew. Joey let go of Seto’s hand, and he cupped Joey’s cheek. Though his husband’s face was set and stony, Joey recognised the pinched skin on the bridge of his nose, the upwards curl of his lip as he contemplated something. It looked the same as him examining the inanimate objects in the house, trying to determine where they came from. 

Setting his hand over Seto’s, Joey asked, “Don’t I look older to ya? I’m definitely no teenager.” 

“That’s your problem,” Seto said, flat and uncertain. 

“C’mon, super-genius, that’s gotta raise some alarm bells. I look older, an’ you look older, an’ Mokuba...” 

“Is not here.”

“Yeah, he is. He’s downstairs in the kitchen. The one goin’ out of his way to help you. Strangers don’t do that, okay. ‘People aren’t that nice.’ Ya know how many arguments me an’ you have had over people jus’ bein’ nice for the sake of bein’ nice?” Joey felt heavy under Seto’s touch. Goosebumps travelled up his arms; this wasn’t how he expected to be touched when Seto woke up. “C’mon, we both know I’m right. That’s Mokuba.” 

“No.” 

“He has the locket.” 

“No!” 

“He’s older because you’re older! Look,” Joey dragged Seto into the nearby guest bathroom, yanking him until they stood in front of the mirror. “Look at ya! You think this is what an eighteen year old looks like?” 

“Get off me!” 

“Jus’ look at yourself!” Joey insisted. 

“I just crossed dimensions. Your brain can’t even fathom what sort of temporal shifts that might cause,” Seto growled. He looked everywhere but in the mirror. 

“Bullshit.” 

“I know what I’m talking about Wheeler, now let me go before I hurt you.” 

“Oh, you ain’t gonna hurt me.” 

But he was worried about hurting Seto. Constantly and carefully, he shifted his hold. Seto wasn’t frail. His husband was never frail, but he didn’t want to be the reason for any more bruises or cut lips. He gave up that life a long time. Still, he pressed his husband up against the edge of the sink, using his body weight to prevent Seto from slipping out beneath him. They were so close; his skin was inflamed; euphoria and arousal danced in his veins in a way it hadn’t in months. 

“Joey! What are you doing?” Mokuba exclaimed. 

In that moment, he snapped out of it and backed away. He didn’t mean it like that, or how Mokuba might have seen it, but he couldn’t deny his reaction. 

Seto lingered by the sink, taking several attempts to reach out and turn the faucet, answering, “We’re fine,” almost too calm. 

“What’s going on?” 

“We were having a discussion,” Seto replied. Through the mirror, he looked at Mokuba, but Joey caught Seto looking at himself.

“What kind of discussion?” 

“A private one,” Seto replied hotly. 

Caught up in his head trip, Joey didn’t bother to defend himself. He pointed to Seto before running his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. His chest still stung from the steaming coffee stain. His ribs ached where Seto had pummelled him with his elbows. His hands trembled uncontrollably, horrified. And yet he wasn’t sure why Seto was defending the conversation. 

“Private?” Mokuba asked, looking between the both of them. “Like your ‘private’ ones that freaked out the secretary?” 

“No.” 

Joey was surprised to find that Seto answered with him. 

“Ya don’t even know what he’s talkin’ about.” Joey rested against the wall. “He means when we...when we get into mad arguments at the your office. They get all heated, sometimes we get so serious that things get thrown. Then we kiss an’ make up, it happens. We’re both hot-headed assholes, in case ya haven’t noticed.” 

Mokuba frowned and took Seto’s arm. “C’mon, you should be taking it easy, okay?” 

He didn’t budge. 

He let his hands fill with water from the faucet, and he splashed it on his face. He moved his bangs out and away, tracing the hairs around his ears. The water dropped along his nose and between his lips. Off his chin, down his collarbones. He touched the scar on his temple and looked back at Joey, contemplative. 

“Did I actually love you, Wheeler?” 

Joey shoved his trembling hands in his pockets. “I love you.”

“And?” 

Water dripped into the sink. Joey shrugged. “And...an’ I dunno the last time ya told me ya loved me. So I don’t know. I think ya did. We had...have our problems.” 

“I’m not surprised. You have a funny way of showing it.” 

“Yeah? Well so did you!” 

Mokuba took Seto’s arm and lead him out of the bathroom. “We don’t need to talk about this right now.”

It was too complicated to explain, and Joey’s hands still trembled at the thought of pressing Seto up against the sink. They trembled thinking that Mokuba, or worse, himself, had misread the moment. He had. Definitely. He wasn’t forcing Seto to do anything, but he was, because he hadn’t realised how much he missed the rush of them being so close together. 

Seto didn’t immediately follow Mokuba. He lingered in the doorway, staring at their reflections. “Ya believe me, don’t ya?” Joey asked. 

“No.” 

“Somethin’ inside ya believes somethin’, though. Ya know I wouldn’t lie to ya, but ya don’t know why, because you’re smarter than that. You can’t argue away the logic.” Thank goodness for small miracles. Joey licked his lips, refusing to look at Seto head-on. “This is hard for the both of us.” 

It was easy to pretend he was sixteen again. He did it plenty of times, joked internally or got drunk enough to convince Yugi and Honda that they were playing an elaborate game. Honda was easy, he fed into the joke, but Yugi was shy about something that wasn’t even true, that no one but them would know. Not the bartender or the patrons or the cop they would stroll by on their way out of the bar. The joke bothered him, he said, and Joey asked why. “I liked being sixteen, but I like me now, too. I’d hate to be lost between them.” Joey told him he was crazy. 

When he looked up again, tears stained his rose-flushed cheeks. Seto wasn’t in the mirror anymore. Fuck. 

—

Day after day, Joey went about his routine. Get up, go to work, come home. The world wasn’t going to stop to give him time to reconnect with his husband. He could have taken the time; the school wouldn’t have stopped him, and money wasn’t an issue, but he didn’t want to abandon the kids. They gave him eight hours of escape before he pulled back into the foreboding manor. He sat in the driveway a few times, watching the windows. The shadows. He made out Seto’s rigid figure. He moved slower, was more careful and regulated, kept his arms close to his sides and his eyes on his hands when they weren’t on something else. He was hurting at the idea that he was flawed, beyond the lack of memory because at least he could explain those gaps with his ‘temporal dissonance’ theory, but his pride would never let him accept he needed help doing innocuous tasks. 

Joey flinched to help, but stayed back. 

He watched from doorways. He said nothing, did nothing. He existed in his own home, making himself known. There were a few times that Seto made scathing remarks about ‘oh, the dog found his way home again’, and he wondered if Seto forgot he lived there. 

He did find pictures on the mantle askew every once and while. Their wedding photo, a few vacation snapshots, any pictures with him and Seto in it exclusively, were turned towards the window. The rest, especially those with Mokuba, had been sat on the coffee table. Other mementoes were strewn there, too. Their unassuming fire-proof box was left open, and diplomas, certificates, photographs, passports, were all left out. 

Sometimes, Mokuba would sit next to Seto while he read. They talked. About life, about work. News of KaibaCorp. perked Seto up, and he ran at the mouth about ideas and projects that needed to be implemented. And then Mokuba would slowly bring him down and show him every piece of proof that they’d already been done. He’d hold Seto’s hand for as long as the brunet allowed him. Mokuba wore a sad grin, recounting as many days as he could. He went over project documents and schematics, and he told Seto intimate stories. The look on Seto’s face seemed sober, a little reflective. His shoulders hunched, and he examined everything with rigour, looking for flaws. Anything. Anything to prove he was right; the hardest part, Joey thought as he watched, was how he seemed to grow smaller. How he pulled into himself as Mokuba recounted dates, facts, people and places. 

“You okay?” Mokuba asked late one night. 

Seto held a prototype duel disk design. He fiddled with the pieces, opened it up and sifted through its wiry guts. His mouth formed an apostrophe, and his shoulders dropped. Joey almost stepped in, but he didn’t want to disturb the moment. “I left,” he said. 

Mokuba turned to face Seto, wide-eyed. He pulled his legs up into the chair. “Left where?” 

“Catalina. I was sailing around the island, but it started storming, so I came inland. There were several messages on my phone. Mokuba—you,” he said, twirling the wires between his fingers, “you called. You said it wasn’t precisely important, but the test product wasn’t working. I don’t...I don’t recall why, but I know I went to fix it, that makes the most sense. I had to get it working.” 

“It never worked,” Joey replied. 

“It’s almost complete.” 

“It had fatal flaws.” Mokuba took the disk. “It was a good design, but we couldn’t ever figure out what caused all its problems, so we used its design for something else. You remembered that?” 

“I remember being frustrated. Catalina was bucolic.” 

Joey rolled his eyes. “Ya didn’t seem to care ‘bout it back then. Ya hated goin’. Ya liked goin’ but hated it when ya got there. An’ I hated goin’ because you did. You were moody, there was always somethin’ wrong with the boat or there was a storm. We talked about packin’ enough food to sail to the Big Island, but we never did it.” 

“Why bother going then?” 

“You tell me.” Joey fell into the armchair. “We went at least twice a year, more if you were feelin’ it.” 

“I didn’t take Mokuba,” Seto said, unsure. 

“That a question?” 

Seto’s lips parted. He leaned back into the couch and continued to fiddle with the duel disk, flipping it over and back again. “I don’t remember you there, Wheeler,” Seto said. “But I wouldn’t go alone.” 

“I was there. Every miserable step of the way.” 

Mokuba frowned and shook his head. “It was a getaway for you two. Sometimes you’d do business, but mostly it was just for...fun. Someone,” he pointedly stared at Joey, “convinced you that you needed to relax. And you listened to him, so...” 

“Hn.” 

“It had its moments,” Joey admitted with some catharsis. 

“Catalina was serene,” said Seto, detached from the conversation. 

It chilled Joey more than he thought it would. The doctor wasn’t surprised about the detachment when they mentioned it. Mokuba had described it like Seto’s normal apathy, but with holes in it. “We can see he’s there,” Joey had added, “an’ we know he’s not, but sometimes he fools us. He looks at you an’ talks at you so...so normal. Then he goes off somewhere else.” 

“He’s healing.” 

_Healing_. 

It could have been that. It just didn’t feel like it. Some days were a step forward, other times they were a step back. Most of the time Seto remained aloof and cold-shouldered. Locked away, just like when he was a teenager, except the moments of clarity. Joey didn’t even get excited, though he listened to every word and memories. The passing things Seto would recite word-for-word. Mostly short conversations and things he couldn’t put any context around. Some were good, some were terrible. Most were neutral and inconsequential. 

Joey walked into one as he got home from work three weeks after Seto woke up. Mokuba walked with Seto as they made a lap through the front rooms and up the stairs. They did six laps every day at 4:30. Joey didn’t ask why. 

“‘Nii-sama, if we do that, then we have nothing to negotiate with,’ you said, and I said: ‘There’s been room for negotiation since they asked to negotiate. They have something they need and they’re not telling us’. Your hair is long, but shorter than it is now...” 

Mokuba chuckled to himself. “Keep going, I don’t have a clue what this is about.” 

“This is asinine.” 

“Everything’s important.” 

“No, but...”Seto tempered himself and paused in the walk. Joey clung to the words too, the tidbits, the strands of hope like the useless paper shreds that they were. Nothing important or tangible had come up. No graduations, or ceremonies, or birthdays, or anniversaries. None. Just flashes of moments completely unrelated to anything that was happening to Seto in the present. The doctor said it might be that way; there was no forcing his memory to come back, and it was best if they didn’t try, but that didn’t stop Mokuba from being by his side day after long, isolating, miserably demeaning day until Seto called him ‘Mokuba’ and addressed him with the slightest bit of familiarity. 

—

It was late in the evening when Mokuba entered Joey’s bedroom without knocking. “What’s up, kiddo?” He was in the middle of grading worksheets, though it wasn’t so much grading as it was absently drawing smiley faces until his eyes grew heavy. 

“Needed to talk.” 

“Go for it.” 

Mokuba sat on the edge of the bed, opened his mouth, and then said nothing. He scrubbed his face. 

“Everythin’ a’right? Did Seto say somethin’?” 

“No, he’s up in the library.”

“Can’t pry him outta there with a crowbar,” Joey muttered. “It’s about him though, somethin’s eatin’ at ya.” 

“It’s not really about him, per se. It’s about the both of you, and I didn’t get a clear answer out of him.” 

“Shocker.” 

Mokuba pressed his thumb to his lip. The nail pushed along the upper edge. “See, that’s part of it, Joey. You’re so negative, and I don’t get it. When he was out, you were always by his side, you picked on the nurses for how they took care of him or what food they served him. Remember, you stopped me from going in that one day? He didn’t want visitors, you said, and I believed you, because I trust you to know your husband. I just don’t get what’s going on now.” 

“He hates me. He doesn’t think I’m who I say I am,” Joey replied. “it’s hard t’ be positive.” 

“But you’re always positive,” Mokuba insisted. “You said we’d get through this. You said that he’d get out the coma, and that he’d get better. He’s getting better, he recognises who I am sometimes, or at least he accepts that I’m not lying to him. He can grasp the concept, he just doesn’t know how to feel or to act.” 

“He’s bein’ a prick.” 

“He’s hurt, Joey! The least you can do is treat him like you always have.” 

“This is how I always have! An’ this is how he’s always treated me. We’re two fucked up people lookin’ to lean on each other.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“Ya didn’t see it because he didn’t want you to see it,” Joey said. His heart throbbed. God this hurt. Admitting this hurt. “We had a lotta good times, but we had even more bad. We were jus’ two messed up souls lookin’ for happiness. We had it for a while. When we got married I thought I had found my soulmate, I thought ‘it can’t any better than this’, and for a few years it was awesome.” 

“So what, you two don’t actually love each other?” 

Joey exhaled. His chest hurt where he held his breath. “I love him. I love the selfish prick as much as the day I married him, but there got to be a point where I didn’t know if he loved me. I never asked, I was afraid.” Joey held out his hands, showed the backs of them and the knicks across the knuckles. “We got in fights. Bad fights that scared your secretary. He was the one throwin’ things; I punched walls.” 

Mokuba touched his hands, feather-light. “Did you ever hit him?” he asked slowly. 

“No, jus’ the walls.” 

“Did he ever hit you?” 

Another exhale. Joey tried to take his hands back, but Mokuba held them. “Once. He didn’t mean it, an’ I don’t mean that in the way ya hear in movies. It was like three years ago, it hasn’t happened since. I think he knew he pushed it too far, but I didn’t ask. No point.” 

Mokuba shifted between anger and confusion. Mostly anger. At who, Joey didn’t want to know.

“I don’t blame ya if you’re mad at me. Especially after what ya saw the other day.” 

“What, the bathroom?” 

“Yeah. It was...I dunno. About like him hittin’ me. Didn’t mean it, won’t happen again. I’m jus’ as lost an’ confused as he is, because I keep gettin’ my hopes up and thinkin’ that we can restart. I hoped we could use this as a clean slate, or use it as an opportunity to look back at all the stupid things we’ve done over the years. But I-I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t even remember how to talk to him or what he said, or I said, ten years ago.” 

Mokuba huffed. “Something had to have worked.” 

“When ya find out what it was, tell me,” Joey said. “Until then, I’d rather us talk to each like we’re used to. Maybe that’ll bridge the gap between then and now.” 

It wasn’t the answer that Mokuba was looking for. It was the sort of conversation that sparked more questions than answers, and sometimes even Joey was lost in it. He spent countless hours looking out windows, watching the kids, and thinking about all the mistakes been them. The what; the whys; the how-to-fix-it versus the there-is-nothing-to-fix. They were just broken people, lashing out. 

“You have to talk to him,” Mokuba said. “You’re going to. I’ve talked to him, and it’s helped the both of us some.” 

“Might wanna bring a ref, then.” 

“Fine. The therapist. He’ll sit in with you guys until you start talking.” Mokuba hopped out of the bed and went to the door. “You’re not getting out of this, either. I don’t think you really want to ignore him, no matter what you say.” 

“Whatever, kiddo.” He went back to grading, and he looked up a few minutes later to find Mokuba staring at him still. Or rather, staring through him and into the guest room. “Somethin’ else still on your mind?” 

“You originally stayed in the guest room when you guys were dating,” Mokuba said. “That’s sort of a restart.” 

“Sorta, yeah.” 

He expected something a little more profound out of Mokuba after that short analysis, but instead, he left. Joey, for the first time in weeks, felt like smiling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a fun joke....I angried this one out. Emotions are good fuel sometimes. I realize the tone is shifting to a little bit messed up, so tell me what you think.


End file.
